


The frost keeps us warm

by JesseMo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not for Jonerys fans, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-22 17:06:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesseMo/pseuds/JesseMo
Summary: The wall has fallen, Jon is still on Daenerys' ship and there are only days before the Night King reaches Winterfell. Sansa must bear the burden of leading her people into battle or into retreat while struggling with a conflicting love now that she knows the truth of Jons birth from Bran. How can she protect the man she loves and defends him when all his actions have betrayed his promises to her when the whole of the North doubts and resents him as they learn he bent the knee?





	1. 15

"How much time do we have?" Sansa asked her brother, looking troubled as her mind whirled with the information he had just given her to process.

Jon had killed them all when the Lords learned why and how exactly the Night King had a dragon there would be no forgiveness or understanding. Jon for months had ignored all of Sansa's letters, dozens of questions and council for him and he had not responded to a single one. The Lords were furious, and a part of Sansa was too. Yet she listened, she tried to keep them placated and calm, trying to remind them why they had chosen Jon. That they needed to trust him. But now, how could they?

He had made such crucial decisions without even advising his council in Winterfell what he planned. He had gone beyond the wall to capture a Wight to convince Cersei to fight with them and from what Bran told her, she had agreed but as Sansa would have expected it was a lie. If only Jon had listened to her, remembered all she had told him about the woman.

Then he had declared to Cersei he had bent the knee and sworn allegiance to Daenerys, without any approval from Sansa or the Lords. He had promised her something that wasn't even his to give away. Sansa had trusted Jon with ruling the North, she sat and let the lords name him King, she not once fought to be in full command rather than him.

Even when Bran came, it was truly his right, and she knew Jon would give it to him but he had shaken his head. He could never be Lord of Winterfell, or a king in the North. Sansa had left it at that. She wasn't greedy as she had been as a child, she didn't want to be queen, she was happy just being home and having Jon name her lady of Winterfell.

But Winterfell is hers, the North is hers, Jon even said so but she had given it to him as a woman gave away her heart and she felt a fool for it now.

The wall had fallen.

"Not long, a few days," Bran answered in that emotionless voice of his. There were times Sansa had wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him violently, begging him to come back to his old self, to be the be something more than this cryptic, shell of a man now grown. "We're not ready." It was Arya who was the first to admit it, and Sansa was surprised. She thought her sister would be adamant to get to the fighting, that she would be the one confident they could hold them off.

"No," Sansa agreed. Sansa looked at Sam, Jon's friend. She had named him as the Maester Wolkan's apprentice while he was with them.

"Send ravens to all the houses closest to the Wall with orders to evacuate to Moat Caitlin." She told him with great urgency.

"Not to come here, my lady?" Sam questioned.

"No, we've taken so many refugees from the Reach now that I don't think we'll able to take any more of our own people. Those fleeing now have the greatest chance of survival and defense at Moat Caitlin. If we fail to hold them off here, we'll fall back and regroup there and make a last stand." She told him thinking of the soldiers that had managed to escape Daenerys Targaryen's assault after the siege and capture of High Garden. Yes, Bran had told them of that. Told them how Daenerys Targaryen gave an ultimatum, took no prisoners. You bent the knee or died. So when Bran had told them Jon had bent the knee, she and Arya had to believe she gave him the same ultimatum, but then he told them that wasn't the case at all and everything seemed to crash atop them.

When Sam learned what had happened to his father and brother, Sansa had suggested to Sam that he was more than free to see to his sister and mothers well being. They were alone and terrified. Sam knew he was needed in the North though, and instead asked if he might extend an invitation to his sister and mother to come to Winterfell.

Sansa had been happy to grant him his request. His mother and sister helped Gilly with little Sam and the other mother and young children who couldn't fight. They were a great relief to Sansa. Sam's mother was used to running a household and her experience eased some of Sansa's burdens along with teaching her things her mother had never gotten to before Sansa had left Winterfell.

"And ring the bells. We must warn our people." She said wishing she could just put her head in her hands, not think, not do anything and just be the innocent, naive child she had been when she once lived and walked these halls years ago.

"Yes, my lady." Sam gave a jerk of his chin and hurried off to do as he was asked.

"Who are we going to have to lead our army if Jon's not here?" Arya asked with a raised brow. She was by the window, flipping the dagger she had used to kill Little Finger in her hand, twirling it expertly between fingers.

"Lord Royce and Lord Manderly." She told her. The two had the most forces, and Lord Manderley had gained a great amount of respect from his speech when he first stood and bent the knee to Jon and House Stark.

"And how are we to explain the dragon?" Arya caught the dagger after a high toss and gripped it tight. Sansa ran the side of her index finger across her lips. "We just tell them the truth."

"Our king sought to gather and bring evidence that he believed would ensure the aide of possible allies, and when he found himself in greater danger he sent word to Daenerys Targaryen for aid and she lost a dragon in the process." She repeated the facts they already knew. "and you think they'll react kindly to that?" Arya scoffed and went on with what she had to say.

"That Jon would ask, who we now know to be his aunt, for help and not his family in the North, not you, who were so much closer, who would have sent willing men to help and at the most given the Night King a few more soldiers rather than a bloody fucking dragon?" Arya voice raised her voice and spit the un-lady like curses from her lips. Sansa glared at her.

Arya was angry and hurt by Jon, and not just because of his actions. She had thought, that if he was heading to the wall, then he would have at least come home to Winterfell first to see her and Bran after Sansa wrote and told him they were alive. She had imagined he would have come running through the gates, and she too him and lift her into his arms and spin her like he had when she was a girl before they left Winterfell. Arya loved Jon, there was no question about it, and had been in denial for someday's after they had finally gotten Bran to tell them what it was he so desperately needed to tell Jon.

"What else can we tell them?" Sansa stood, feeling hurt and frustrated about this whole thing too.

"Lie to them and have them turn on us when they eventually learn the truth? Because I promise you they will figure it out. They will ask questions and we can't just brush them off when they do." She told Arya. "When they see that dragon they will only look to blame one person, then when they realize it's an ice dragon, they'll look to Jon who had been with her all this time for an explanation and he'll be honest as he always is."

"I just don't want them to hate Jon." Arya said, looking out the window. She sounded like a child and Sansa resisted the small urge to hold her and comfort her.

"They won't hate him." Sansa sighed. "They'll just resent him as the whole North did when Tohren Stark bent the Knee to Aegon the Conqueror."

"Like that's so much better." Arya rolled her eyes.

There was a long silence as everyone thought about their current situation. This was difficult for all of them. None of them would have ever dreamed that Jon would betray the North this way, spit on Robb's memory and all his victories. Neither Sansa nor Arya could imagine why Jon wouldn't have even stopped for a night in Winterfell instead of going straight to the wall.

For Sansa, Little Fingers voice was still in her ear, telling her how beautiful and unmarried the Dragon Queen was. Had Jon really fallen in love with her? The thought left a strange swirling sensation in her belly. But she had warned him about Robb, told him he had to be smarter than him. She would not believe, Jon for all his good heart would throw away all of his promises, his duty, and loyalty to the North for a woman. He had been a man of the Nights Watch.

Yes, she had heard the story of he and Ygritte's love. But he had chosen duty then too, he had returned to the men of the Night Watch, he had fought against her at the time of her death as terrible as it may have been. He had made his choice. Jon, even if he was not truly Ned Starks bastard, was still her father's son. The values that had been ingrained would not be ground away by the sweet cruelty of love.

Perhaps, in the future, it might be a good political match but now when the North would learn that it was one of Daenery's fallen dragons that would be burning their homes, it would only lead to disaster. She was an enemy until proven otherwise and she would not be accepted, and if she ever was it would come after years of peace and trust building. If the woman thought otherwise, she was a naive, overconfident fool.

Sansa wanted to believe her thoughts were so harsh towards the Targaryen Queen because of the bloody history between their families, remembering when she first stood in the room where her uncle and grandfather had burned and thinking of their suffering and how happy she was that King Robert had won the war. But perhaps it was a woman's jealousy.

Perhaps she had become greedy. She had monopolized Jon for months since she first came to Castle Black. She had at first just been happy to be with family, with someone who could remind her of the better days, of hope and innocence. She had asked for his forgiveness, for all her petty childish cruelty, and he had granted it. After some pressing. Jon had always been brooding and humble, the easiest going of them all besides Arya and Rickon, the youngest. He could brush off slights, keep his calm in the face of insults. He had the thick skin all bastards had.

But it became something more after a while, she found herself staring at him for longer than she thought might be proper. She thought of him in ways far more intimate than simply brother and sister. It haunted her, and she wondered if her time in Kings Landing with Cersei had truly corrupted her. She was no better than that evil, wicked woman who lusted and loved her own twin. She tried to tell herself it wasn't true, she was just clinging to him because he was all he had, he was the only man she trusted and it didn't resonate to her how she was feeling because Jon had never been a brother to her like he was to Arya or the others.

When Bran told them that Jon wasn't their half-brother but their cousin she felt like a boulder had been lifted off her chest. It felt like for so long she was slowly being crushed by her conflicting heart and at last, she knew the answer to Petyr's question. What did she want that she did not have, something that would make her happy? Jon. Jon is what she wanted yet didn't have. It was Jon that would make her happy.

But now, even knowing the truth, she may still never be allowed to have him. It seemed her loves were cursed. Joffrey was a snake with a crown and Jon was an unobtainable man through blood and now he may very well love someone else.

But there were more important things than her longing, girlish heart. She had to remember who she was. The lady of Winterfell and she had a people to protect.

Sansa stood. She needed to speak with the lords. She was not a commander or soldier, and no one had fought or killed a dragon for centuries. Sansa needed their advice on how to proceed against the enemy.

"It does us no good wasting any time, we need to speak with the lords and come up with a  plan of defense." She told Arya before heading out of the room. With a huff, her sister followed.

The lords, as predicted, were furious and shaken. The dead, they had been told about, warned and made to fear as they prepared to fight for their lives. But a dragon? They didn't think they would need to worry about one before they survived the onslaught of Wights and White Walkers that Jon had told them was marching their way.

Jon had gone to bring dragons back to help them fight the army of the dead, but instead, he had helped deliver a dragon to their enemy and if the Night King could kill one it meant they could kill and turn the other two as well. It was now a liability to work with the Dragon Queen against the Night King rather than an advantage.

Not to mention after what she did to the Reach, no one in the North felt that she was someone who was trustworthy enough to bow to. The North, no matter Jon's promises to Daenerys Targaryen, would never come to love her or accept her. At the most, if she helped them in this war and didn't threaten to burn them than she would be tolerated, for the sake of their king alone and a peace that lasted long enough to take care of the Night King and his army.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa admits her insecurities to Bran

As Sansa gave the orders for evacuation, she saw men prepare to ride out to help guide and protect them to Moat Caitlin. She wondered morbidly how many would actually make it. Bran said they had days until the Night King arrived atop his dragon to Winterfell. But why he was coming straight to them, not even Bran knew. On foot, the Night Kings army would take weeks if not months to get to them if they stopped at every small home and keep to add more to their numbers.

She wanted to believe she knew what she was doing, but she didn’t. Listening to the Lords complaints and defusing volatile situations as a Lady was something expected, even seeing to the Norths grain stocks and other provisions. But war and fighting, that was so beyond any of her teachings and she was terrified her choices would fail them all. Her heart trembled with worry that she was making mistakes that would cost lives.

She wished Jon was with her. Side by side, even when neither listened to each other at the worst times, they were better together.

Sometimes at night, she wondered if she should have just gone South with Jon. They might have been able to run into Arya along the way, and the three could be a family together, a pack. But Bran would have come back and there would have been nobody but the Bolton’s waiting for him. Their younger brother would have still died. But for a moment, Sansa had wanted to hope they could get him, to forget how cruel and terrible Ramsay was and believe that they could rescue him. But as they forged ahead, she remembered, her nightmares reminded her and she knew, in her heart that she would never see her brother again, she would never get to hold him in her arms.

That night, after killing Ramsay, after Sansa realized no matter what she did to him it would never bring Rickon back and the satisfaction of his terrible death would only ease her pain for so long, she had wept the way only a child wept. Loud and violent until she could barely breathe.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Bran.” Sansa said as she came up to her brother while he sat before the heart tree in his chair. “They picked Jon to be King, not me, no matter what they are saying now behind our backs about it. They bowed to him first and it was for good reason. He’s good at this, good at ruling.”

Bran was silent, his eyes as distant as always, like half of him was far, far away.

“I’m too damaged, too paranoid. Perhaps it’s because of Lord Baelish and Cersei.” She sighed and leaned forward against her knees. “What if Jon was able to get Cersei to fight for us, what if she changes her mind and she sends her men now that Ser Jaime left her?”

Still, Bran was silent.

“I could be wrong about all of my instincts.” She shook her head. Lately, she just kept doubting herself no matter the facade of confidence she wore around the Lords.

“I just wanted to come home, to find you and Arya and be together and safe.” It was such a naive dream, one that should have only been had to the stupid little girl she had been in Kings Landing. “I knew we would have to fight Cersei eventually, knew she would find a way to get those terrible claws of hers around our throats.”

She felt like a fool, and she was sure she must sound like a simpering idiot. If Arya was here she would tell her to shut up and stop whining, remind her of everything they’ve been through, that they could handle Cersei and handle Daenerys.

“Is she a terrible person, Bran, can you at least tell me that?” she tried to push for some personal information regarding the Dragon Queen. If Jon trusted her, chose to bend the knee, maybe it wasn’t just because he fell in love, maybe it was because he trusted and believed in her, that he truly thought she was what was good for the North's future and not just it’s survival.

“She has a good heart, but she’s frightened of looking weak.” Her brother finally spoke. “That fear of weakness is causing her to make regrettable decisions.”

“Cersei said once to me, that it was important to make sure your people feared you more than they feared your enemy. I thought then, that if I did become Joffrey’s queen, I would make the people love me.” Sansa scoffed. “But the people loved Margaery, and she’s dead.”

Margaery had been the only queen that had given her hope Joffrey could be controlled, that through him she could bring forth the Kings Landing that Sansa had once dreamed of. But more than anything she had believed she could help her be free of Kings Landing. Even when she had been married to Tyrion, Margaery found the light in the darkness o the situation. She reminded her of the possibilities and the potential for such a marriage if she played her part right. She had been a good queen, almost as wonderful as the Good Queen Alysanne. If she had only lived for some time longer, she would have left a beautiful rose growing in the heart of Kings Landing. But all that was there was the ash of the Sept of Baelor.

If Daenerys was like Margaery, perhaps it would not be so bad to help her sit the throne. But the North would not give up their independence for her. No, Daenerys could either give up that notion or she would have to burn them. The lords had accepted that risk, they would not bend. If they were to believe what Daenerys Targaryen did to the Tarly father and son to be true, then they would not receive any other choice. It would be fealty to a stranger or death by dragon fire. 

The sons and daughters who were heir to their houses were given express permission that if their fathers died and the Starks fell, they may bend the knee for the sake of their survival if that is the path they chose. The Lords and Ladies that would be fighting, loved their children and would not ask them to die beside their parents. Their pride was not that massive to hold them to their parent's choices. Dickon Tarly chose to follow his father's example and refuse to bend the knee and accept death.

“The scale that is meant to balance hate and love is a delicate, sensitive instrument and one grain more of either can make the difference for an event that will affect a lifetime,” Bran said, but that didn’t exactly make Sansa feel any less conflicted.

“You may find you have more in common with her than you know, perhaps it is another woman that can set her on the right track again.” Bran mused.

Sansa didn’t look convinced that was possible, that wasn’t to say she would be completely unwilling to speak one on one with the Dragon Queen.

“Why is the Night King flying straight to Winterfell, Bran?” Sansa asked, coming to him to seek an answer more important than what Daenerys Targaryen was like.

She couldn’t imagine what they had the Night King wanted other than lives to add to his army.

“He’s coming home.” The words sent an ungodly chill through Sansa, her entire body felt as if she was back in that freezing river with Theon.

“What?” she barely managed to say, her voice catching in her throat, her eyes wide.

“Some say he was a Bolton, Magnar, Flint, Norrey, Umber, Woodfoot.” He looked at her and the haunting she saw in her brother’s white eyes frightened her so much she jumped to her feet.

“He was a Stark, a Lord Commander.” Bran looked back at the tree, eyes still white and she wondered if he was seeing the past now, that he was there and speaking to her at the same time. “the 13th Lord Commander.”

The 13th? Sansa knew that story.

“A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. He brought her back to the Nightfort and proclaimed her a queen and himself her king, and with strange sorceries, he bound his Sworn Brothers to his will.” She quoted a part of Old Nan’s story.

“Brandon the Breaker killed him with the help of the Joramun the King beyond the wall.” She shook her head. Everyone in the North knew this story.

“Yes, but the woman he loved saved him with her own life and he fled beyond the wall.” He said and Sansa felt her breathing become labored.

“The Children of the Forest captured him and made him into the First White Walker.”

Sansa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She recalled the legend of the 13th Commander. “The 13th Lord Commander was a mad and bloody tyrant when he lived, turning the Wall into a kingdom rather than a fortress to defend and protect against the creatures North of it."

“He’s coming home to burn it, to destroy the magic that ties him to the North.” Bran continued to explain.

Sansa blinked and looked at Bran in question.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“There was must always be a Stark in Winterfell, or rather there must always be a Stark in the North.” He told her and she noticed how he slumped. Was he tired from looking into the past?

“But that’s just something father used to say, a superstition.” Sansa shook her head.

“No.” his voice fell. “It’s not. We are bound to the North, to the wall.”

Sansa sat back down.

“He can’t go south if Winterfell and The Wall stands. Not all of us at least” He told her. “Such is the curse that Brandon the Breaker asked the Children of the forest to set upon his brother. And they did, when they made him a White Walker.”

“The Children of the forest have always had a connection, an understanding with House Stark but their trees were being cut down, and decided to use him for their own purpose knowing he could never go into the South as long as his kin lived, the home of his father and brothers stood and the wall kept him on their side.” He finished his explanation of the Night Kings origins.

Sansa felt short of breath, her head was spinning with this knowledge, unknown until now.

“An army can lay siege to a castle, he could try to burn it, but unless the stone is melted the magic will still bind him as it binds us. There must always be a Stark in the North, we could all try and leave to go south, but that magic that binds us would set in motion something to keep at least one of us behind to protect Winterfell from falling.” He looked at her and she looked back, scared and almost panicked.

“We can’t protect it against a Dragon.” Sansa stood and began to pace. “We don’t have the ballista’s Cersei had, we don’t even have catapults to try and keep it at bay!”

She knew Jon had the best intentions, but if Sansa saw him again she might just slap him. She didn’t know what to do. Many of the Lords wanted to stay and stand their ground, try to lure the dragon to the ground and take it from all sides. But there was no guarantee it would land, that it wouldn’t just burn Winterfell on the ground and fly back to the rest of the army when the deed was done.

“Some of the Lords think if we can manage to lure it to land, we can take it, especially if the Night King is leaving behind his army.” Sansa took a deep breath and began to clear her mind, focus on what little options and possibilities they had to consider and try.

Men from the reach had told them the Balista’s Cersei had given the army to use if attacked by one of Daenerys dragons barely made a mark. The beast were far swifter and more agile flyers than they would have once believed. The spears bounced and broke off it’s armored belly. It seemed that the neck, right at the spot where the wing met it’s shoulder was it’s weakest spot, from what they could tell so far, as it was there that one spear managed to pierce it. Bran said the neck, between the spikes, could also be pierced. That was how the Night King killed the dragon he had now.

But the Night King was physically stronger than a normal man, he could throw a javelin of ice with the force of a ballista.

Perhaps if Wun Wun was still alive, he could manage to grab a hold of a wing or foot, try and weigh the beast down to the ground and stab it. Otherwise the only other plan, is for someone to manage to jump on the dragon, perhaps grab it’s tale and climb up. They would have to face the Night King though, and if they managed to make it past him perhaps they could wound the dragon while on it’s back.

She needed to talk more with the Lords, she had asked for a recess so that they all may breath some of the cold air and take some time for deeper consideration on how to face this air born foe of theirs. She had seen a servant pushing Bran towards he Gods Wood’s and told the girls he would take over and bring her brother the rest of the way. That was how she had found herself where she was now, speaking with her brother. 

“Lets get you inside, Bran, I think you need to rest some.” Sansa said, softly, as if speaking to the boy he once was. She brushed some snow from his hair and kissed the crown of his head. “And I’ll have the kitchen make you some venison stew, it was always your favorite before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since we don't have a 100% confirmed origin for the Night King I took a few ideas and some of my own and came up with this origin/theory.


	3. Chapter 3

“My lady, the Dreadfort has catapults!” a squire boy came running into the great hall, a great grin on his face.

They had been in the process of taking all of the provisions from the Dreadfort and moving them to Winterfell to feed and clothe the refugees. The Dreadfort had always been a strong fortress and it had taken two years to starve them out when they had raised up against House Stark centuries ago.

The catapults must have been found during it excavation.

Sansa turned to the lords around her and pointed to a spot on the map, right beside the Long Lake. A plan was forming in her mind.

“We defend here at the Lonely Hills.” She told them. “We will make our stand at the Dread Fort, hold the Night King off as long as we can with the catapults.”

The Dreadfort had higher walls and towers than Winterfell, a show from the Bolton’s that they thought themselves better than the Starks at one point. But it would make for a more advantages defense. If they used the towers to get a higher point on the dragon it might be possible to make a better attack on it. The castle also had triangular merlons, like teeth. If they managed to get the dragon to drop from the sky onto them they might even kill it.

“The Dreadfort is made entirely of heavy stone, we can secure chains to the towers. The rooted weight of the strongest parts will keep it from flying higher and we can land an attack on it.” Lord Hornwood suggested.

“It may tear the Dreadfort apart though, but it’s a risk that can potentially help us slay the dragon.” He spoke honestly of what could go wrong.

Sansa had Sam write the idea down. It would be considered later.

The conversation went on for quite awhile. After hearing all ideas, they sat down and reviewed each one, voting on the best ones. When a plan was fully formed they all agreed it would be best to move out to the Dreadfort as soon as possible to prepare. Soldiers would leave that evening, and Sansa would be going with them. Just for the ride to the Dreadfort and mid-day of the next, she would return.

Even Arya looked uncertain at her about her departure.

“Jon is not here to stand with you on the battlefield, to lead you but I am. Though I am a woman, I am still a Stark and you are my men as much as Jon. I will go with you.” She told them as she straightened in her seat, trying to keep the tiredness from her eyes and voice. It had been a very long day.

“But who will keep Winterfell?” was the great question they wanted to be answered. 

“My sister, Arya.” Sansa said with an elegant gesture of the hand towards said sister.

There were murmurs and Arya shifted feet, her hand itching to reach for Needle as the Lords in the room looked at her with suspicious, not fully trusting her yet. They were even more wary of her after she had cut Petyr Baelish’s throat so swiftly without hesitation. It worried them that a girl so young seemed used to killing.

“I understand my sister has been away longer than I from the North, but not by much. And she has not been compromised by marriage to another house either as I once was, so you should not feel any concern.” Sansa said, hinting that she did not forget their reluctance and ill-feelings towards herself when she had first returned North.

The lords at least had the decency to look ashamed when she brought up their original cold treatment of her. 

“She is well traveled and knowledgeable about more than you know. And she will have Lady Tarly and many fine and honorable Lords of the North to guide her while I am away.” She smiled at her sister, eyes twinkling.

“It will be a short trip to the Dreadfort and I will return before the end of the morrow.” She reminded the Lords. “I will go with you to oversee the preparations and leave before the Night King arrives.”

She felt like a coward saying it allowed but the Lords seemed visibly relieved. She had become much more needed and wanted than she had ever imagined. Jon had failed them, so they looked to her now. She needed to fight for them, speak for them and take in consideration their wants and desires. They want freedom, they wanted to survive, but for them, if they weren’t free it didn’t matter if they fell to the Night King or his army. If they survived and were once more under the heavy thumb of a southern ruler, it would all be for nothing. Their sons, even mothers, died in the pursuit of Northern freedom. They would not let that go.

Perhaps they might change their mind if Daenerys proved herself to be more than some foreign queen who also happened to be the Mad Kings daughter, that she had the interest of the North in her heart. But it would be difficult. More so that Sansa, who they looked to for example did not so much care for the woman who refused to help a people willing to fight and defend the rest of the world, her supposed kingdom unless they bent the knee to her. The North, after the wall, was the second line of defense, they were the watchers, the defenders that would buy the rest of the world, theirs was the blood that would be spilled first.

To be willing to let an entire country die, deny assistance, just because they refused to bend the knee was repulsive. This Dragon Queen was proving herself no better than Cersei when she refused entry into Kings Landing to refugees and kept food from the poor to build up the royal houses own stores.

Other concerns she faced was the fact that though no one had said it, she had a feeling that they might wish to name her Queen.

Sansa would not hear it. Anytime she suspected the conversation going in that direction she made an excuse to kindly leave. Jon was their King, they chose him, she chose him. Once he was back home, where he belonged, things would calm down and he could properly explain his plan to Sansa and together they would face the Lords.

“Lord Glover and Hornwood will be in command of the defense at the Dreadfort. Lord Manderly and Royce shall remain in Winterfell with the rest of our army.” She looked at each man as she said his name.

“I must prepare. I leave it to you, Lord Glover, Lord Hornwood to gather the men that shall partake in our endeavor. Some of the still able-bodied soldiers from the Reach have also been convinced by Sam to fight with us. You may ask for volunteers from them if you find our own lacking.”

Sansa stood. “I leave the rest to you, My good Lords, and ask to excuse myself so that I may dress for our departure.”

They gave shallow bows and pardoned her leave. Sansa could feel their eyes on her back, but it was not the same looks she had received in Kings Landing. These stares were of admiration and she held her head a little higher as she walked from the hall and to her rooms, her sister trailing behind her.

It was only when they were in the warm privacy of Sansa’s chambers that Arya finally spoke.

“Are you insane?!” Arya asked, bewildered and concerned about her older sister’s actions.

“You can’t leave me in charge.” Obviously, she was not too happy about being given the position, as temporary as it was. Sansa had expected that would be the case.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and Bran keeps saying he’s the Three-Eyed-Raven rather than a Stark anymore,” Sansa said with a sigh as she unhooked her cloak and her maid came in to help her out of the rest.

“How about you just don’t go?” Arya offered as if that should have been the obvious solution from the start.

“Me riding to the Dreadfort will raise morale, and after the Northerners have heard from the soldiers of the Reach what a dragon can do, they need it.” She told Arya.

  
“Besides, I trust you.” At Sansa’s words, Arya gave a small, sharp inhale.

“You won’t even have to do much.” She rolled her shoulders out from the gown as her maid finished with the difficult laces at the back. “Most things that needed to be seen to I have already taken care of. You’ll just have to oversee what I already put into motion and help Lady Tarly with the distributing of food to the refugee’s and continuing your training of the other girls.”

Sansa chose quickly a light, grey cotton dress that was easy to move in. The bodice was tight but breathable and she wore a wool surcoat. It would provide some extra warmth. She sat down for her hair to be taken out and redone.

“You’ll do fine, Arya. You’ll have Sam and his mother, and Bran too.” Sansa was hoping this list of people might comfort her sister, but it seemed to have little effect.

  
“How would you like your hair, my Lady?” her maid asked, taking advantage of the short break in the conversation.

Sansa explained that she wanted two braids going from the front to the back, at the top of her head and meeting in the back to be braided together into one. That now singular braid was to be looped and twisted around into a bun that would be held up by a hair stick made of dragon glass.

The point of the hair tool was sharp enough to stab through a man’s flesh and muscle if aimed at the right spot. In the case of a Wight attack, it should easily enough pierce one. Sansa had a few made especially for her and the other women. In the case their weapon was knocked from their hands it could be an easily accessible, last resort tool of offense.

“You look like mother.” Arya’s words turned the atmosphere melancholy and a long silence fell between them.

“I’m not trying to be her, but her memory does give me strength and inspiration.” Sansa looked over her shoulder, her eyes so much older than she was and it struck Arya again how much she looked like her mother that it nearly made her want to cry.

Arya hadn’t cried in a long time, and she doubted she would again. She wasn’t sure if she could anymore.

“I miss her, just as much as I miss father,” Sansa admitted and looked forward again, at the looking glass.

“I miss when she used to come in the morning after I woke, and she would brush my hair. She always sent the Septa or maid away to do it herself. I loved the way she brushed my hair.” Sansa sighed, and her eyes looked longing at her own reflection, she too seeing the similarities between her and her mother in her face.

There were nights she still cried, like a child for her mother. For her comfort, for her arms and warm breast. She had been so quick to leave her yet so soon she had regretted it, longed for her mother and felt lost without her guidance.

“I have a gift for you.” Sansa stood from her chair and gave a nod to her maid. The girl smiled and she pulled a trunk out from under Sansa’s bed. Sansa thanked her and dismissed her to send word to the stable to start preparing her house.

Once gone, Sansa opened the trunk.

“I started working on these since I was at the Vale. In Kings Landing, Lord Baelish had told me you were still alive, back then I trusted and believed him.” Inside the trunk was an array of garments but among them was not a single dress.

“I kept hoping I would see you again, that I could apologize for all the hurtful things I said to you but words wouldn’t have been enough. I knew that.” She pulled out what at first looked to be a yellow overdress, but as Sansa lifted it Arya could see it was not so long. It’s length that of a tunic. Sansa laid it out on the bed and then pulled out some grey britches.

“I always thought that you looked the nicest in yellows and greys. Sometimes a ribbon of blue in your hair.” Sansa reached out and tucked some of her sister's dark hair back from her face.

“You don’t have to wear them, but if you would like to not all the pieces are so colorful. Some are more muted, darker. A lot of silver and grey stark colors too” Sansa told her and took her hand back.

“You are pretty, Arya.” The compliment made Arya blink. “You’ve grown so much, so far away from me, and you have blossomed into a woman without mother and without me. Without anyone.”

“Sansa—”

“No, please just let me say this.” She pleaded softly.

"I hurt you so much. I don't blame you for leaving Kings Landing without even a thought about me." her sister shook her head sadly. "And since then you've grown and learned so much all on your own."

“Just promise me, promise me you won’t lose yourself like Bran has.” She cupped Arya’s face, a panic in Sansa’s. “The two of you have changed the most, I didn’t expect us all to be the same people, but there must be some part of who we once were that remains alive. We can’t lose it, we can’t let it go or will cease to be Starks any longer.”

Arya seemed to consider her sister's words, thought deeply before she finally nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” Sansa let out a breath and put the garments she had taken out back into the chest, neatly.

“When I was Kings Landing, I did what I had to in order to survive. I called father, mother and Robb traitors.” She confessed what her sister was sure to already know.

“I swore my love and loyalty to Joffrey so I could survive long enough to be rescued from him and his atrocious family. Then when they made me a Lannister and mother and Robb died, it seemed all the terrible things I said about them were for nothing. I would not be saved and I started to fade away inside.” She recalled the listless days after she learned how her brother and mother died, the sleepless nights, her growling stomach that no matter the food put in front of her she would not satisfy.

“I wanted to die.” She told Arya.

“Margaery tried to coax me out of my depression, she tried to tell me that if I laid with Tyrion I could have a new family, a babe of my own that would be heir to Winterfell and Casterly Rock. But it would be a Lannister, what if it looked like Joffrey or Cersei?” She shuddered at the nightmares she once had.

“And I just kept losing myself more when I went to the Eyrie, where I had to be Alayne Stone, Petyr’s bastard daughter.” Her lips itched so terrible at the memory of Petyr’s kisses she wanted to rip them off her face.

“I needed him to survive, I believed he would take me home. So I lied to others for him, I protected him, and he betrayed me and gave me to Ramsay where every night my new husbands cut piece after piece of me from my flesh.” Sansa’s eyes burned, but she would not cry.

“I didn’t want to become like Theon, I didn’t want to be a Reek. I was ready to die then when I tried to escape because at least I would die with some of Sansa Stark left.” Sansa’s blue eyes were hardened, but Arya could still see the hope in them for a better life that Sansa had as a girl. But now she had finally realized she could have that better life in Winterfell, that she didn’t need some pompous, handsome prince or knight.

“We have to be smarter than father, smarter than Robb, but we must still remain ourselves while doing so. There are so many things we could do that might seem easier, that are crueler and more efficient in getting us what we need or securing our own safety but I’ve learned from Jon, from coming home that perhaps kindness is not weakness, but courage.” It hadn’t been just Jon that taught her that though, it was Margaery, it was Sam, it was from learning from the mistakes and cruelty of others.

“I wanted to take Alys Karstark and Ned Umbers home from them, as Cersei had wanted to steal ours like the Theon tried to, like the Bolton’s succeeded in doing. Jon did the right thing, he gave them a second chance. But I wanted to punish them, hurt them for their father and brothers crimes.” Sansa was ashamed of herself remembering how right and just she felt until Jon set her right.

They were just children, Alys not much younger from her. And she had looked at them, feared them, as Cersei had feared and hated her. She had learned from Cersei, yes, but she never wanted to be her as she once had. The woman was mad, a cruel, wicked creature that lived off of her own bitterness and spite. Alys had come to Sansa days later to speak with her. She had told her that she understood, that she was right to make an example of what betrayal got you and how loyalty was rewarded.

So she had asked that instead of going home, Sansa might take her into her household as her lady in waiting and help her find a match for herself. One to a loyal bannerman that had come when Sansa and Jon called.

Sansa had not been sure if she could trust the girl, but she could see that Alys had been nervous but her eyes had been so determined.

“And if we asked you to marry a wilding, to secure peace between us and them?” Sansa had tested her.

Alys had just smirked and said with a small tint of red to her cheeks. “To be honest, some of those Free Folk men are more handsome than the Northern Lords in those meetings.”

  
The two had shared a smile at that and Alys had been in Winterfell ever since. Sansa had what Cersei would have once called a “flock of hens” that consisted of Gilly, Talla, Mellessa, along with Wylla Manderly and Alys.

Sansa did not spend her days sitting in a sewing circle and gossiping. No, she was no longer that girl. Now she and these women, if ever together, worked to bring peace to dying soldiers and help sew wounds and bandage burns beside Sam and the Maester. They helped mothers with their children and made sure food was distributed evenly and that people had places to sleep with warm blankets, even if that place was on a pile of hay with only a tarp on some sticks over their head. They took care of people and in the rest of their spare time trained to fight with sword, spear, and bow.

They could hardly be called a flock of hens, squawking and shaking until their feathers fell out.

“I know the Lords are still unsure of you, but you have never been married, your loyalties never tested as mine were. If you listen and do right by them while I’m away, then they may come to warm up to you much faster than they did me.” When Sansa said that, Arya could see the pain in her sister’s eyes despite her best attempt to hide it.

“I’m sorry for what I said, about the day father died, about everything. I was an idiot and so were the lords for not seeing how much you care about the North.” Arya huffed under her breath, looking away. “You’re a Stark, that should never have been in question by anyone.”

“Thank you for that. But I was wrong too. I should have said that you should be on your knee’s thanking me, though it would be quite a site.” Sansa smirked, putting a hand on Arya's shoulder.

“That would never happen.” Arya rolls her eyes and brushes Sansa’s hand away, but not in a hurtful way.

“Thanks for the clothes.” With the conversation over, and much still need to be done, Arya makes to leave. She wanted to talk to Bran.

She would have a servant come for trunk of clothes later

**Author's Note:**

> If you are a Daenerys fan, please don't leave hate and spam. It's not that I hate her, I just hate where they took her character and this is my interpretation of her and how people might feel about her.  
> Thank you, and hopefully I can take this story somewhere good that you'll all enjoy


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